Sunrise Sunset
by Yuval25
Summary: Two lonely, powerful men reflect on their role in life, watching sunset and sunrise from their secured placements. One plays the game that is life, the other the game that is death. But at the end of the day, they're still the same two lonely, powerful men, playing a dangerous game. Drabble, kindly leave a review.


_Just something I drabble-tagged at BBC Sherlock Fanfiction Challenges. Never done a Moricrofy before, but oh, well, there's always a first time for everything. Not that this is terribly Moricrofy. They're both annoyingly uninterested in anything to do with relationships. But at least Moriarty is expressing some... well, something._

_Please enjoy :)_

**And remember, * Reviews Are Love! ***

Pairing: Mycroft/Moriarty.

Prompt: Sunrise

**Sunrise Sunset**

The glass of the window was designed to block bullets and even weak missiles from entering the secured vehicle Mycroft currently resided in, but that didn't change the clarity in which Mycroft saw the world outside, looking out the window at the cliché sunset, which coloured the skies of the Egyptian desert a quiet shade of everlasting orange, one that thousands of generations had seen before him. It was a timeless image Mycroft knew how to appreciate, sitting in silence and sipping his luxury wine from his comfortable seat behind the passenger's seat.

It was not very often he had the time to enjoy such scenery, and so he let his thoughts fade and found himself sinking into a calmness he rarely had the opportunity to experience. Many cultures symbolized sunset with the term "end"; end of a day, end of a journey, end of a life. Mycroft found that concept strangely comforting, despite the implication.

Being the manager of an empire, a country, having so much power and control over so many people, could be tiring. The British Government, as Sherlock liked to remind him, was run by a single man, if one looked at the bigger picture long enough to find him. Which they didn't. That man was Mycroft Holmes, of course. There was no other man cut enough for the job. Sherlock had had the potential as an infant, but as soon as the hints of Asperger's started showing (despite the stubborn ignorance their parents acted on in this matter) Mycroft knew his brother would never be able to make such decisions.

It wasn't a job he could quit. No matter that he didn't particularly desire to quit, but still, the limitation of actions on his part was quite unpleasant. But he, like many other human beings, believed everyone had a role in life. His was control, to manage, to play the game that was life.

In another part of the world, sat a different man whose role was to play the game that was death, looking out the window at the cliché sunrise with a tired sigh. His relaxed exterior did nothing to calm his terrified bodyguards that were waiting for that feared sardonic smile to paint his expression in a dangerous manner. The man sipped his tea slowly, around him only silence as he enjoyed a quiet moment of 'alone'.

His expensive suit and clean, shiny shoes were made by the best tailors and cobblers, of course under threats of their loved ones being killed if the quality didn't match his expectations. But that was only a necessity. He preferred keeping the interesting threats for interesting people. Like Sherlock Holmes.

Or even better, his brother. His angelic older brother who thought he was in control.

A small smirk stretched James's lips and his bodyguards fought not to flinch.

Yes, Mycroft Holmes was definitely his favourite puppet. Doll, even, as the man's pale, delicate complexion and gentle features could have been mistaken for those of a porcelain figurine.

The Ice Man.

Of course, that was just a pretence. The man was as far from being Icy as James was from possessing Sympathy. The man's whole world revolved around his brother and the government, thought James in amusement, chuckling behind his tea and startling his guards further. He had little time for the joys of life, the enjoyments of teasing, playing. He was a chess player, strict and methodical, while James was more of a cards person, relying on playing the opponent's cards as well as his own and hiding cards up his sleeves.

James looked at the sunrise, the boring image of suburbs and grass and cars and children. It was so dull, so... happy.

Frowning at the calm, dull neighbourhood, James got up from his seat and left the room, his guards behind him, nearly shivering in fear.

Sunrise was dull.

Sunset, however, would have been much more welcome now.


End file.
